Adventures
by madame.alexandra
Summary: The galaxy can get real, real weird when everyone is obsessed with rebel superstars. Han finds out just how ludicrous fan adoration can be. H/L being cute and flirty, post ROTJ.


a/n: a comedy piece. set within the year after ROTJ.

* * *

_Adventures_

* * *

Leia was quite settled in for bed when Han took it upon himself to come barging into the bedroom with all the grace of a rampaging bantha. She'd been holding a document up close to her face, squinting at it lazily in the soft evening mood light of the lamps, when the door – already slightly ajar – bounced open with gusto and knocked against the far wall.

Unperturbed, Leia lowered her document slightly, blinking at him. He was still fully dressed – though he'd discarded his old boots at the door – and he was holding something bunched up in his hands.

Han usually stayed the night in her quarters – much to the chagrin of the High Command or rather, the leaders of the New Republic. However, since Leia was also a leader of the New Republic, she chose to care little for their chagrin, and when one old codger by the name of Jan Dodonna had tried to bring it up to her she'd told him to fuck off or she'd release a sex tape.

Left him mute and in a panic as to whether or not she'd actually do such a thing. She wouldn't, but she wasn't above sticking her tongue down Han's throat in a public place if she decided it was necessary.

As it were, she hadn't been expecting him tonight. When he hadn't shown up around his usual time, she'd assumed he got caught up doing something, and went about her nightly routine. There were no hard feelings there; things were in flux and she, or Han, frequently got caught up doing something. They had not neatly defined the parameters of their relationship – other than to establish, very firmly, to everyone, that there _was_ a relationship – and were both enjoying the freedom of it in the middle of the hectic, freshly won post-Imperial era.

The thin strap of Leia's camisole slipped down her shoulder of its own accord, and she cut her eyes at it with amusement. It seemed her clothing knew exactly what Han's presence in her bedroom usually meant, and sought to offer him an appropriate greeting.

"I'm reading tax policy proposals," Leia said into the silence, lowering her document even further. "Your window for sex closed a few minutes ago."

Han narrowed his eyes at her, inching closer.

"I'm not here for sex," he retorted seriously.

A line etched itself into his brow, and Leia leaned back a little, amused. She eyed the thing in his hand – it looked like some sort of garment – and then glanced back at his face, cocking her head.

"Oh? Are you dying?" she quipped.

Han ignored her. He held his hand out – the hand with the thing in it.

"What is _this_?" he asked, as if she were supposed to magically become aware of 'this,' despite the fact that it was all balled up and wrinkly, and he was making it impossible to tell what it really was.

"Laundry?" she guessed, after long pause.

Han held it closer, and Leia put her documents in her lap neatly, giving him a look.

"Han, I can't see what it is," she said patiently.

Han glanced at his hand, and then unfurled the offending item. He shook it out stiffly, and it revealed itself to be a bright blue blouse – no, more casual than that; more like a lounge shirt, with a crew neck and wide, cozy sleeves. The blue was actually _horrendously_ blue, and Leia was just thinking how it was neon enough to produce a headache when she remembered what it was, and where she'd left it.

She drew her lips together into a sabacc face, studying the front of the shirt as Han presented it. The shirt, which was emblazoned with a caricature image of a certain iconic Wookiee, larger-than-life next to an equally cartoonish replication of the _Millennium Falcon,_ seemed to whisper laughter into the bedroom as it rippled just slightly in Han's grip.

"This," Han said again, hissing the 's'. "What-is-_it_?"

Leia compressed her lips.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, her expression unreadable.

Han glared at her.

"Your bag," he retorted brazenly.

They both knew he was going to say that, and Leia lifted her chin at him, pretending to be offended.

"_What_ were you doing in my _bag_?" she asked.

She had a neat, fashionable shoulder bag she took with her to and from her work all day. She left it unfastened and on the table in the entrance hallway every day, and _someone_ had begun slipping tokens in there – prank tokens, or genuinely sweet ones.

"You know what I was doing in there," Han grumbled.

"I want to hear you say it."

"I was putting a flirty note in it!"

Leia smirked at him. He shook the offending shirt pointedly, reminding her of its presence. He scrunched his nose, his expression demanding.

"Leia," he growled. "Explain."

She sat forward, eyeing the garish shirt with amusement.

"Well, Han," she said placidly. "What you have there is an item of clothing commonly known as a shirt."

Han gave her a baleful look.

"Smart ass."

"What do you mean, 'what is this'?" Leia quoted, mimicking his voice. "It's a shirt!"

"Why's it got this stupid cartoon of _my ship_ on it?" Han demanded. "Why's Chewie standin' here lookin' like a big spiced out _dope_?"

Leia feigned shock.

"He looks friendly and approachable!"

"_Leia_."

She laughed. She shrugged, and held out her hand dramatically, palm up.

"It's some…some merchandise," she snorted. "Carlist found it at a _street_ fair. He gave it to me," she explained. "He thought it was hilarious." She rolled her eyes. "They put my face on clothing sometimes."

"_This is a cartoon _Falcon."

"What's the outrageous part? That it's the _Falcon_ or that the cartoon version looks neater than the real one?"

Han picked up a throw pillow from the floor and chucked it at her lightly, scowling. Leia caught the pillow, hugged it to her lap, and leaned forward again, biting her lip.

"It seems," she began dramatically, "that there is, ah, a comic in distribution that…memorializes the _Falcon_, and Chewbacca, and their rebel heroics," she said, nodding at the shirt, "and that is promotional material for it."

Han stared at her, his arm going slack. He shook his head, turned it around, and began to examine the image furiously.

"It's called _The Adventures of Chewbacca_," Leia offered sagely.

Han looked up narrowly, his mouth hanging open. He lowered his hands slightly, staring at her. She had left it on top of her bag so he would see it; she knew he'd be appalled at the idea of his beloved ship being fodder for a children's comic – didn't do much for his street credibility, his rough exterior, his –

"The Adventures of _Chewbacca_?" he quoted, his voice going higher at the end in a somewhat offended squawk.

"Yes, in fact, I thought I might get a subscription to – "

"Chew_bacca_?" Han squawked again. "What about _me_?"

Leia lifted one knee, fascinated. She tilted her head to the side.

"What about you?"

Han flipped the shirt around, brandishing the image again. He gestured at it wildly, clearly insulted.

"_Where_ is cartoon Han Solo?" he griped. "If there's a – they _can't_ have a – comic – without – _who_ do they think – I'm – the _captain_!" he blustered.

Leia bit back a peal of laughter. She had not entirely predicted that he would be outraged that he wasn't included in the cheesy little homage to the Rebellion.

"He _had_ all his adventures with me!" Han whined.

Leia shrugged carefully.

"Perhaps they thought you weren't as marketable as an adorable Wookiee and his trusty ship."

"_It's my ship_!"

"Come to think of it," Leia drawled, "I do think they gave the comic Chewie an intrepid sidekick, if I could just…oh, yes, they put a dark blue vest on an Ewok, I believe."

"_What_?" Han nearly bellowed, taking a complete step backwards in his outrage. He put a hand to his chest. "But Chewie already has a sidekick!"

Leia compressed her lips hard to keep from laughing. Now Han was referring to himself as the sidekick? Was he going to hand over the scoundrel title to _Luke_ next? Leia made a show of setting her documents aside on the table. She leaned forward on her knee, perching her chin on it seriously.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't make the cartoon, either," she said, deadpan.

Han flung the shirt at her, and she swatted at it, curling it in her hand and grinning. Her _other_ camisole strap slipped down her _other_ shoulder, and she shook her head with a tolerant sigh. Traitorous pajamas. All of her items of clothing were whores for Han.

Han sat down on the edge of her bed, scowling. He put his hands to his chest.

"How'm I _not_ marketable?" he grumbled. He turned and gave Leia a look. "I'm not adorable?" he growled.

"You are very adorable," Leia told him solemnly.

"Not marketable," Han sneered. "I'm – the Coruscant Sun called me the most envied man _in the core_!" he bitched.

"Well, yes, but that was in reference to the fact that you, you know," Leia said primly.

"I what?" Han challenged.

She cocked an eyebrow and gestured regally to herself.

"Fuck me," she finished.

Han glared at her. She tilted her head at him, matter-of-fact.

"You are merely my mistress now. I don't make the rules."

"Listen, Sweetheart," he retorted, "some crazy lady sent me fan mail last _week_ offering to pay me six _million_ credits if I'd lick her big toe. That's it. _Just lick it_."

"I highly doubt someone making that sort of request has six million credits."

"No, Leia, those are the people that _do_," he pointed out dryly. "Only people with money have time to be that kinky."

"I hope you told her you only suck on my toes," Leia said, indignant.

"She wanted licking, not sucking."

"If you suck _or_ lick another woman's toes, I will have words with you about it," Leia threatened dangerously.

Han turned slightly. He flashed her a grin, and then slipped off his vest and threw himself back, scooting onto the bed and stretching out beside her, on the quilt, fully clothed.

"What kind of words?" he asked. "Dirty words?"

"Filthy."

Han ran his hand up her arm, tugging on the drooping strap. He stuck his tongue out, leaned over, and licked her arm. Leia squeaked and twisted away, kicking him playfully.

"_This_ is why you're not marketable!" she accused. "You're gross!"

"Yeah," Han laughed, inching closer to slide his arm around her stomach, "'cause _that's_ the grossest place you've had my tongue."

At that, Leia cocked her head.

"_I_ have money," she mused. "I wonder what my ludicrous kinks are."

"Let's find out, Your Worship."

Leia rested her arm over his, and entwined her fingers. She grinned, her face flushed. Han moved closer, sighing into her side, the gruff sound of it reverberating against her ribs. He mumbled something, and then shifted his head a little so he could speak more clearly, blinking up at her.

"Weird times," he said gruffly.

"Yes," she agreed, touching his jaw affectionately.

They were all giddy with the Empire's defeat – all of them; the rebels, the newly freed galaxy, all sentient creatures all around – riding on an immeasurable high, trying to harness all of the goodwill and laughter into political drive and civic responsibility.

Everything was important, and everything was fun again, freed from the yoke of darkness – it felt more acceptable to laugh, to scream, to joke, and to tease. There were horrors to recover from, but the future was bright and – and _there_, for the taking.

The galaxy had gone wild with adoration for the insurrectionists-turned-victors; they were notorious, household icons now not because of death marks and wanted notices, but because they had been the tip of liberation's spear.

For the first time Han was subjected to the sort of thing Leia had always known as a prominent figure: the zany revelry of peacetime obsession with icons. She had been trained to ignore the best and worst of it, but watching Han become _increasingly_ flabbergasted and consternated with the way some people chose to venerate their heroes was – adorable, to say the least.

"'M used to people tryin' to kill me every time they see me, not ranking my best outfits or takin' polls on my favorite way to have you in bed."

"Oooh," Leia murmured. "I didn't see that one. What was the consensus?"

"That I always gotta hold you against a wall 'cause you're so short," Han said seriously.

Leia scowled.

"That is rude and lacks imagination. I get on all fours on _plenty_ of tables."

Han gave a bark of laughter. He sat up a little, shaking his head.

"The Adventures of _Chewbacca_," he sulked. "Wonder if he's heard," he muttered.

Leia was sure he had. She grinned, and reached up to push some of Han's hair back gently. She leaned over to kiss his temple; happy he had come over after all, even if it was very, very late. She knew what everyone said; that class barriers crossed in war always sprang back up in peacetime, that this would never last, that he would leave her, that she would come to her senses – she knew it, and she ignored all of it.

She loved him. She knew it would last. She could feel it. Nothing, and no one, had ever made her feel such calm, relaxed happiness, as did her love for Han.

"Mmm," Han hummed. He gave her a sly look. "You sure I missed my window for sex?" he asked, pouting. He attempted to catch her camisole strap in his teeth, and it, of course, cooperated by sliding towards him.

Leia pretended to think about it. She certainly wasn't too tired. She tilted her head primly.

"Let me freshen up," she said demurely.

She slipped out of bed, tucking the tightly balled up shirt close to her so Han wouldn't notice it. He gave her an eager look, and sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. He turned to the side, hung his legs off the bed, and began unbuckling. Leia ducked into the 'fresher, where she quickly shimmied out of her shorts, panties, and the camisole that had it so bad for Han.

She pulled the cartoonish shirt over her head, arranged her hair, and then bit her lip. She emerged from the 'fresher in the most dramatically sexy manner she could concoct, posing, draping herself against the doorframe, twisting her hips.

"Ohh, _Haaaan_," she trilled, a cinematic stereotype, a bombshell, a –

Han turned to look at her, half out of his trousers, holding a knife he'd just removed from his ankle holster in his mouth. He squinted, realized what she'd put on, glared, and then fell over, and still stuck in his pants.

Leia sauntered around the bed to peer at him. He spat his knife out and glared, ripping the trousers off, leaving him in nothing but his briefs.

"Take that thing _off_," he demanded.

"I like it."

Han got up on his hands and knees and crawled towards her. She backed up teasingly.

"I think you should come fuck me in it," she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows. "You can take me against a wall and call it _The Adventures of Princess Leia_."

Han sat up on his knees.

"Where the hell are _my_ adventures?" he growled.

Leia stepped closer, almost letting him grab her. She jumped around him, grabbed him around the shoulders, and bent closer to his ear, smirking.

"I'm your adventure, flyboy," she whispered, and hopped away from him just as quickly, shaking her ass as she slipped away. "You want it off? Come get it off."

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room and Han, blinking in surprise, grabbed the bed sheets to haul himself up. He rubbed his face, laughing huskily. With the war over, and a free, limitless future unfolding before her, so much pressure off her shoulders, _she_ was an adventure, more of one than she'd been during the war – and that was saying something.

He took off after her, relishing the chase all the more because it wasn't real, because he already had her, and their coming adventures were intertwined.

* * *

_this story was mostly written b/c i wanted "Coven" to be my 400th story._  
_also, i have a millennium falcon t-shirt._

_-alexandra_

_story#399_


End file.
